


Pause

by tastewithouttalent



Series: Assistance [2]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff, Hair Braiding, Hospitalization, M/M, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 06:53:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'Don’t hide, no point in you sitting up if you’re just going to disappear.'" Knuckle visits Shoot while the latter is recovering. Takes place after Chimera Ant arc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pause

The first time Knuckle sees Shoot in the hospital he starts crying. It’s perfectly obvious, especially when the other man makes no effort to hide the enormous wet drops that are splashing onto the bare skin of Shoot’s arm. It makes Shoot smile, even though it feels like every bone in his body is aching and the smile itself pulls painful at the healing injuries in his face.

“Shoot,” Knuckle says, and reaches out to wrap his fingers around Shoot’s shoulder. Shoot is expecting the contact to be painfully tight, emotional and uncontrolled with desperation, but Knuckle’s big hand cups his arm like he’s cradling a bird, and the touch is so gentle Shoot doesn’t even want to flinch away. “Glad you’re alive.”

“Yeah,” Shoot says. His voice is raw and rough and the words come out louder from the effort than he intends. “Me too.” He means he’s glad Knuckle’s alive, glad to see him here, and doesn’t realize that it may sound like he’s relieved about his own survival until Knuckle grins damply.

“Thanks,” Shoot mumbles, so softly he can barely hear himself. He doesn’t expect the other man to catch it, but Knuckle’s dark eyes go softer even than the tears were making them and his grip tightens until Shoot can feel the press of individual fingers against his shirt.

“You should.” Knuckle starts, then swallows back as the tears in his voice threaten to drown out his coherency entirely. “Get better. I’ll let you rest. Okay?”

“Okay.” Shoot swallows and it hurts, and he’s not sure if it’s his injuries or tightness working its way through his throat. “You could come back to visit. Tomorrow?”

Knuckle smiles around the continuing flood of tears. “Yeah,” he says.

The next day when he appears Shoot doesn’t ask him to come back but he does anyway, shows up the moment visiting hours begin so Shoot doesn’t even have time to convince himself Knuckle’s not going to come. This time Shoot realizes that Knuckle’s limping as he comes in, favoring his own injuries, and he starts to apologize for the effort Knuckle’s going through before the other cuts him off.

“I’m the only one well enough to move around at all,” he declares, tipping his shoulders back like he’s showing off the breadth of his chest, and Shoot smiles. “I’ve got to carry news back and forth, keep you up-to-date on what’s going on.” In spite of his declaration he doesn’t actually talk about anything relevant that day; he ends up playing with Shoot’s hair, declares that he’ll put it back up in braids once Shoot’s able to sit up comfortably again, and Shoot shuts his eyes and lets the rumble of Knuckle’s voice and the gentle feel of fingers in his hair lull him into an almost-painless doze.

By the time the nurses will let Shoot prop himself upright on a sea of pillows, Knuckle’s been coming to see him every day for over a week. Shoot’s looking forward to the other’s visit and dreading the attention the change in position is going to draw, so by the time the door shifts he’s anxious to just get it over with so he can stop feeling faintly nauseated by the swoop of panic in his stomach.

After all that panic there’s almost no reaction at all. Knuckle pauses in the doorway, blinks when he sees Shoot sitting up, and then comes over to take his accustomed seat beside the bed without saying anything at all.

“How you doing?” is the only acknowledgment he makes, and when Shoot nods, Knuckle accepts the silent response as the neutral answer that it is intended as. “You’re looking better,” he says, but he’s not looking at Shoot’s face anymore; the taller man can see Knuckle’s eyes drifting down along his hair and the way it’s falling over his shoulder, and the wave of self-consciousness that hits him is so strong he brings his hand to pull awkwardly at the strands he can easily reach while tipping his chin down to hide his face behind the fall of color.

“Hey.” Knuckle’s fingers brush against Shoot’s and Shoot drops his hand immediately, jerking away from the contact more obviously than he intended, but the other man doesn’t flinch at all. “Don’t hide, no point in you sitting up if you’re just going to disappear.” Knuckle pushes back a lock of hair, his fingertips brush against the curve of Shoot’s ear, and Shoot’s heart is beating too fast and he isn’t sure if he wants to pull away or lean in towards the touch.

“I’m gonna have to put it up for you,” Knuckle says, and Shoot doesn’t totally process what he’s saying until the bed shifts with the addition of Knuckle’s weight at the edge. “Otherwise no one’ll ever see your face again.”

 _Go away_ , Shoot wants to say, wants to cringe back from the invasion of his personal space, but he can’t detach from the possibility of contact and he can’t lift his head, so he just stays perfectly still and lets Knuckle settle into the space next to him. The mattress slants alarmingly at the addition of the lopsided weight, and Knuckle isn’t even entirely on the bed; he’s angled with one knee next to Shoot, so close that his thigh brushes Shoot’s arm when he shifts to keep his balance, and his other foot is on the ground to offer some support. There’s a hand against Shoot’s hair and one resting feather-light on his shoulder; there’s no way that can be offering any help at all to Knuckle’s attempts at balance but Shoot can’t speak any more than he can move, and Knuckle’s not moving away.

“It’s gonna be trickier from the side like this,” Knuckle says. “Am I hurting you?”

He’s not, it’s not  _pain_  that he’s causing, so Shoot shakes his head in a tiny approximation of a no, and Knuckle laughs.

“Good. Lemme know if I am, okay?” and then his fingers move from Shoot’s shoulder to join his other hand against the other man’s scalp, and Shoot’s heart is pounding way too fast, the way it does just before a fight, and he can feel every shift of skin against hair or short-cut fingernails against his scalp, and braiding his hair has  _never_  been this intense on his own, what is  _wrong_  with him?

It feels like it takes forever, and every strand of hair Knuckle pulls back leaves Shoot’s face more exposed to the light in the room. By the time the other man is done Shoot’s whole face is hot and his scalp is tingling like it contains all his nerve endings at once and his heart is hammering in his chest until he thinks he might pass out.

“There,” Knuckle says, and his hands leave Shoot’s hair. “That’s better.”

He’s looking down, Shoot can feel the gaze against his cheeks, and instinct pulls his eyes up to meet Knuckle’s dark stare. Knuckle looks just like he always does, his face pulled into lines of too much emotion and not enough relaxation and eyebrows angled dark over his eyes, but he’s smiling and his touch on Shoot’s shoulder is delicate again, so Shoot could pull away if he wants to.

He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to move at all. His heart has slowed, or maybe stopped entirely, and the panic he has been feeling is frozen into a cold crystalline moment of hesitation, and Knuckle is staring at him like he’s seeing something more important than Shoot’s familiar features.

Shoot sees Knuckle swallow in his periphery, though he can’t make his eyes move away from the other man’s gaze. Knuckle’s eyes are going liquid with emotion that Shoot doesn’t understand, is he going to cry again? Why would he be crying  _now_? Then he says, “Shoot,” his throat working hard around the sound like he’s choking on it, and when he leans down Shoot doesn’t think or feel anything at all. There’s just a breathless pause of stillness, the heartbeat between decision and action, and then Knuckle is close enough to touch, close enough to kiss, and Shoot is waiting waiting  _waiting_  and nothing is  _happening_.

It takes a long time before Shoot realizes that Knuckle’s not going to finish the movement. He’s not sure, at first, thinks maybe it’s just time drawing inordinately long, but then Knuckle exhales against his mouth and it’s long, it’s been  _too long_ , and Shoot’s mind is racing  _does he want to did he want to did he change his mind why isn’t he should I what if he doesn’t_  until the possibilities and the panic stack too high. There is a single moment of perfect silence as all the worry in his head goes silent, and Shoot thinks  _fuck it_  so clearly he might have shaped the words with his lips.

He leans forward and kisses Knuckle.

Knuckle’s mouth is still barely open, and they’re so close Shoot can’t really see to line up their lips, and the movement forward hurts so he barely gets their mouths together before he hisses and drops back against the pillows. Knuckle draws back, and his eyes are wide and black with surprise and Shoot’s mouth is lighting up with delayed reaction. Shoot opens his mouth to say...he doesn’t know what,  _something_ , and Knuckle is coming forward too fast and there’s a hand against Shoot’s face and they’re kissing again. Shoot’s throat makes a sound that catches on Knuckle’s tongue, and Knuckle’s fingers are shifting gentle across his cheekbones, and when his hand hits skin he realizes he was reaching for the other without even realizing it. His fingers drag across hair and skin before he identifies that he’s got his hand up against the back of Knuckle’s neck, and the other man sighs against his mouth so the sound tingles straight down Shoot’s throat.

Knuckle pulls back first, which is good because Shoot can’t really go anywhere with his shoulders against pillows. His hand drops from Shoot’s face and Shoot pulls his hand back from Knuckle’s neck like he’s been burned. The other man laughs like the sound is startled out of him and speaks while Shoot is still trying to determine if he will ever speak again.

“You’re amazing.” He says it as if it’s obvious, the most straightforward thing in the world, and Shoot shies back into the pillows.

“Sorry,” Knuckle says, and then, quick, “Can I kiss you again?” Shoot can’t think straight and can’t trust his throat to work, but he nods, jerky and stiff, and when Knuckle’s mouth lands on his again he goes warm and liquid and  _amazing, amazing_  his head says, trying the word out for size. He smiles against Knuckle’s mouth and Knuckle leans in a little farther, warm hands and warm lips leaving starbursts of heat on Shoot’s face and neck and mouth, and when Shoot shuts his eyes he’s forgets to be afraid.


End file.
